


Agateophobia

by gandalfthesassy



Category: Video Blogging & YouTube RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 16:31:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 14,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2157489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gandalfthesassy/pseuds/gandalfthesassy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Agateophobia is "a persistent, abnormal, or unwarranted fear of becoming insane". Mark Fischbach has nothing to fear, of course, because he knows that he's not insane. Everyone else, however, thinks otherwise. The reader becomes his doctor when his previous therapists give up on him. What's up with this new patient, and why are you seeing things out of the corner of your eye? And furthermore, why can't you seem to stay away from Wesley Psychiatric Hospital? To answer these questions, you will need to go crazy and dig into a past that you forgot you even had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Good Evening, Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the reader meets her newest patient.

You half expected to hear "Good evening, Clarice," as you went to meet your new patient.   
  
You had taken a particular interest in the mentally disabled when you were studying at [college/university]. Now, a few years out of graduate school, you earned the right to be called a doctor. Within the medical community, you were well known. Wesley Psychiatric Hospital took an interest in you, and you returned it, nearly curing patients with your, well, patience. Some say you connected on a deeper level than most doctors could. But that came with a price.   
  
You were vulnerable to picking up their habits. One patient you had would tap both feet, right, left, right, like he was marching. The week after he checked out, you caught yourself tapping your feet like he did. Sometimes you acted out like them. You were lucky you hadn't been talked to or even fired. Actually, you wondered if you weren't crazy yourself.   
  
Today, however, there was nothing to mimic. Your shoes clacked on the concrete floor as you walked to room 430. You spared a glance at 427, where one of your patients, a man named Stanley, muttered to himself in the third person with a British accent. You hadn't spoken to him as much lately, though you vowed to change your schedule and visit him. His stories were always clever and mind-blowingly cool. But now you had to greet your new patient.   
  
Next to a glass wall sat a young man with black glasses, black hair, and big brown eyes. His room was mostly white, with a wire bed with covers askew pushed against the back wall and a toilet in the corner. You found these rooms akin to prison cells. Of course, you couldn't change current psychiatric practices.   
  
You glanced at your clipboard. In addition to blank space for your notes, there was some standard information.   
  
 __Patient Name:  Mark Fischbach  
  
Age: 24  
  
Family/Associates: brother, Tom, friends Bob and Wade  
  
Preliminary Diagnosis: hallucinogenic schizophrenia  
  
Condition: highly unstable, borderline incurable  
  
Date of Commit: 7/24/13  
  
Reason for admittance: involuntarily committed by roommate Wade after incident with video recording  
  
You cleared your throat, glancing at the security camera in the upper corner of his room. You closed the door behind you. "Hello, Mark," you greeted him.   
  
From his slumped-over position on his bed, Mark turned his big eyes towards you. They momentarily searched for anything he thought could threaten him. He must've found nothing, because he glanced away again. You pulled up the only chair in the room and sat facing him.   
  
"I'm Dr. [l/n]. But you can call me [f/n]." No response from your new patient. The hospital director had warned you that he would either be totally silent or scream his head off. You wanted to create a different reaction. Anything, really, other than the piercing look he directed at you. He remained totally still. You asked him calmly, "So, Mark, how do you feel today?" Another stare, not a word. You'd dealt with this before, several times, but not with that much staring.   
  
You picked up your pen and were about to write 'unresponsive' when he spoke in monotone. "No different than usual." You recorded his answer.   
  
"How do you mean?"   
  
"I mean, I don't do much," the monotony left his voice as he sounded annoyed. "I stare at a white wall for hours on end. Sometimes I get visitors from colleges and such who ask me stupid questions." He stopped abruptly; you glanced up at him after finishing your writing.   
  
"What do they ask you?"  
  
"Same stuff you're asking me."  
  
"I'm a doctor, Mister Fischbach, I'm not a student. I can actually help you."  
  
A flicker of defiance passed through his eyes. "How? By asking me stupid questions?"   
  


More than a little bothered by his tone, you responded curtly, "I'm trying to gauge your mental status so that I can track your progress and decide when you are fit to be re-integrated into the world." You changed your own tone to confidential. "Look, Mark. I know how you feel.”

“Like hell you do.” 

“Wanna bet? You want to be fixed, or you want out, maybe both. Whichever you want, that can only happen by answering these questions." 

He rolled his eyes. You were a little surprised. Usually, that encouraged patients to be more honest with you. But as you asked him more questions, his answers shortened drastically. You recorded them quickly - there wasn't much to write down. 

Finally, noticing your watch, you got up. "Very sorry, but I have to go. Thank you for cooperating," you said hastily, moving to the door.

The key didn't even reach the lock when you heard him. "Stay."

You turned to face him again. The look of terror and anxiety in his eyes froze you in place. It was the most emotional he'd been the whole time you were in there. 

"Stay?" you repeated, unsure of your own ears. 

"I don't want to be here alone." You made a mental note: Mark possibly had autophobia. 

"You're not alone," you replied, a little confused. "There are plenty of patients here." 

"In this room. Stay," he commanded, more forceful this time. 

"I have a schedule, Mark. I need to work with my other patients. You aren't the only person here, you know." 

Smoke nearly came out his ears. He tensed and screamed at you: "Traitor! Traitor! I trusted you!" He jumped to his feet. 

You wanted to console him, to stay in the room and calm him down, but you were genuinely frightened. Like, jump-scare frightened. Like the jump scare you expect, but not in that moment frightened. You hurriedly shoved the key in the lock and exited the room. Just as you closed the door, you saw his form slam against the other side. You sighed in relief, feeling safe. He couldn't open that door without a key. 

As you headed for your next patient's room, you passed by the hospital director, a Brit whom you'd nicknamed Yami. "Hey [l/n]," he waved. 

"When are you just gonna call me [f/n], Yami?" you wondered jokingly. 

"When you call me Aaron." 

"Never gonna happen. How're you today?"

"Good," he said idly. "You look shaken up. New patient?"

"Yes, that Mark guy," you lowered your voice. "He acted unlike any other patient I've worked with. Actually, no, he acted like all of them. He was quiet, then he wouldn't shut up." 

"I figured you'd react that way. The guy before you couldn't even be near him without Mark going nuts."

"How many doctors, Yami? Before me?"

"Can't tell you. Confidential." 

He walked briskly away. Surprised at his change of attitude when you mentioned Mark's past, you continued down the hall. 

Still shaken, you found yourself much later in your office. The sun had set several hours ago, and most of the other doctors had left. You wearily checked your watch again. Well, it sure was late. 

Time to research Mister Fischbach. 

You snuck into Yami’s office with relative ease - perhaps with too much ease. But that was the least of your concern. You raided the files - A, B, up to F. 

“Farley, Fenchurch, Finch, aha! Fischbach!” you muttered, pulling out his file. 

You found absolutely nothing of use, other than more basic information about Mark. 

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” Confused, annoyed, and just plain tired, you locked up and went home. 

You reached your apartment, barely able to stand up. You tossed your coat and keys onto the ground by the door and passed out on your bed, not caring to change into pajamas. 

A scuttling by the door woke you. You glanced at the clock. Jesus Christ, 3:30? You had to leave in five hours, you couldn’t afford to get up now. But you knew you’d never get back to sleep without looking. You grabbed your phone and turned on its flashlight, roving it around your apartment. Nothing had changed at all.

A small silhouette passed underneath your feet. You exclaimed in surprise, but turning the light down to the ground showed nothing of what scared you. Probably just a mouse. You were going to be more than a little pissed when you talked to the landlord. 

“ _[f/n]_ ,” came a creepy voice from the shadows. Startled, you whipped around. Nothing. Maybe you just needed to go back to bed. Yes. Back to bed. And you did. 

_Scuffle, scuffle._

Creeeeeeeeeee…

Thump, thump, thump.

**Slam.**

Growl…[f/n]...

“HELP ME!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally published at http://alexjackson1988.deviantart.com/art/MarkiplierxReader-Agateophobia-I-424289087.


	2. My Old Gaming Username

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Mark talks about his past.

You woke at 8:35 and looked around, bleary-eyed and disoriented. You got out of your dream so quickly that you couldn’t remember much of anything. Then you blinked, and you saw the sun through the window.

Crap, you were going to be late.

You high-tailed it out the door as soon as you’d gotten ready and got to your bus stop just as it pulled up. Slowing down, you got on the bus and flopped on a seat, still tired. What did you dream last night? You couldn’t remember a word of it, but you definitely remember the feeling. Fear. And agony.

And there was someone you couldn’t save, which was your greatest fear of all.

In your office, you found a note from Yami.

“Slight change in today’s schedule. You’ll be with Mark for most of the time. Try to build up trust with him. Baby steps, [l/n].”

Well, the prospect of being in a room with him for several hours was more than a little terrifying, but you couldn’t help wondering how far you could get with that much time. You grabbed your favorite clipboard and walked down to Mark’s room.

You paused outside the door going into the little anteroom between the hall and his room. On your clipboard were some other papers, more papers. You looked over them: they had information about some of the other doctors, some of whom you’d heard about. But the other pages were blank.

Never mind, you dashed away a new batch of questions that bounced around in your head.

Knock knock. You glanced in at him and saw that he was laying facing the wall. He didn’t move after you knocked.

You slowly turned the knob and stuck your head in. “Mark? It’s [f/n]. May I come in?” You took his silence as consent and entered, letting the door shut behind you.

“What the hell do you want?” he groaned, nearly lifeless. He seemed to have forgotten about the previous day.

“I just want to talk.”

“What about?” he glanced at you and sat up.

“Stuff. Whatever you’re interested in.”

“You’re lying,” he suddenly narrowed his eyes.

“No, I’m not, I do actually care what you’re interested in--”

“No, I mean you’re lying about what you’re in here for. You wanna fix me, don’t you? But it’s not gonna work. You can’t fix something that isn’t broken, [f/n].” You never considered how nice your name sounded, especially hearing it with Mark's voice.

You laughed nervously. “How about we get to these questions?” He didn’t tear his gaze away from you. Seriously, he creeped you out. But he didn’t react angrily, so you figured he was okay with it.

You asked him the usual, and he answered, as usual, with curt and vague answers. You figured this would be routine, but wondered when it would change. Finished with the questions, you rambled on about whatever. Mark seemed intrigued. You wondered if talking wasn’t his strong suit - rather, it was listening, or even doing while others did the talking.

After a short period of silence, a question fell from your mouth. “Mark, what did you do? I mean, before you came here?” A shadow passed across his face and you regretted asking that, but when he noticed your reaction, his died away. “If you don’t to tell me, it’s okay,” you said quickly.

“It’s okay, I can tell you. It’s not like I was doing something illegal. I used to be a bartender. I was okay, but then I was a, uh, gamer.”

“A gamer? As in, you made money off of it?”

He didn’t take to your skepticism well, you judged from his glare. “Yes, I made money off of it. Not as much as some other gamers, but I made enough to put bread on the table, you know. Then…” He trailed off. You could tell by the worry on his face that he’d stumbled upon a dangerous topic. “Then I had to quit. Wade sent me here, and you probably know the rest.”

“Did you like gaming?”

“Yeah, I did.” He looked forlorn, almost like a puppy, and you wondered if it was an act. But it couldn’t have been. His normal act was defiant and quiet. This was the most normal you’d seen him (that day, anyway). “I was really good! I mean, I wasn’t that good, but people at least liked watching me. I made people happy and all that. Sounds corny, but I used to go and meet fans and they told me how awesome I was, and how I’d saved their lives and all that. Stuff like that, you don’t exactly want to give up. But sometimes, life gets in the way, and so does your brain being stupid and making you see things out of the corner of your eye.”

“I’m sure whatever you’re seeing is just a by-product of whatever’s wrong with you.”

“You’re sure, huh? Alright. You keep telling yourself that. At least here, there aren’t any mannequins.” He shuddered at the word. You jotted down the word ‘pediophobic?’, but you didn’t feel like questioning him further. He seemed exhausted, and, well, so were you. You meant to stop getting so bogged down in other people’s affairs, but you supposed becoming a psychiatrist was the exact opposite of that. After what had happened before, though, you couldn’t help yourself. You wanted to maybe fix other people. And sure, it was selfish to fix yourself through fixing other people. But what else are you to do?

“Maybe someday, if you, well, improve, you can go back to it.”

“I’d like that,” he met your eyes again, and for a moment he seemed hopeful. But that died away fairly quickly. “That’s a long way away, though.”

“If you try your best, Mark, you might be able to get out.”

“Might being the operative word?” You wondered how the hell he ended up in here. He was lucid as anybody else. Maybe he wasn’t crazy.

Well, he had to be. Didn’t he?

You said nothing as you got up and left. As you turned your back on him, you heard him muttering something with his name.

“What was that?” you blurted.

“Nothing, just my old...gaming username. Markiplier,” he drew out the name, like it pained him to say it. “My old videos might still be up online.”

Way to drop a hint, Mark, you chuckled and thought to yourself as you exited. But you were definitely going to remember that for next time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally published at http://alexjackson1988.deviantart.com/art/MarkiplierxReader-Agateophobia-II-424517617.


	3. Mr. Kitty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a video scares the shit out of the reader.

You leaned on your free hand at your desk. The clock read 11:30pm. It was several days later, and nothing about Mark had changed, except he had lashed out at you several times. Once in particular, you'd asked him about horror games. He yelled at you incoherently and had to be sedated. Seeing his sleeping form as you were led out, your empathy extended to him stronger than ever before. God, poor guy. You just wanted to wave a magic wand and go, 'Hey, no more hallucinations! Ta-da!' But the world, sadly, did not work like that.

You wanted to go home, but you had to finish transferring your notes to your online files.

Online? Wait a second. Something pinged in your memory, something about your patient.

Your hands managed to type out 'Markiplir'. Google corrected you with 'Markiplier'. One glance at the image results told you that this was him. This was Mark Fischbach's old life, before being stuck in a white room.

One video in particular caught your attention as you glanced through his playlists. Under popular videos, you noticed one titled 'Mr. Kitty Saves the World'. You thought twice and saved it for later, watching a few episodes of Prop Hunt with him and a few friends.

An hour or so later, you understood the man that Mark once was - or at least, who he was to his fans. He loved indie games, enjoyed the cheap thrill of jumpscares, and cussed out rage-tastic games. Pretty normal guy, with the added bonus of aesthetic pleasure. Melancholy draped itself over you. Horrible, that a man with so much life could be reduced to what you saw in that hospital. You sighed softly.

Your eye caught [that video](http://www.deviantart.com/users/outgoing?https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eWfuY2-KDgI) again. YouTube kept 'recommending' it for you, so you finally clicked on it. You donned your headphones. The description simply read 'I'm so sorry'. Okay, so maybe it'd just be a creepy game. You could handle that. Not regularly, but in easy doses, sure.

It started off fairly normally, with Mark greeting his audience and talking about taking a break from horror games. Curious, you paused the video and looked at the date. This seemed to be the last video that his channel had uploaded in a while. Of course, his fans in the comments were confused and scared for him, just as you were.

Could this be the 'incident' that Mark's friend Wade experienced? Was this why Mark was sent to Wesley?

Morbidly intrigued by psychotic breakdowns, you resumed the video.

Mostly, the video seemed like an adapted creepypasta. You weren't an avid reader of them, but you knew what they were. The last one you read, about a corrupted video game with no title, gave you nightmares for weeks.

But that's when you noticed it. Mark began to freak out as the player sprite went off the background. The screen slowly changed from black to pixelated numbers and letters than flickered back and forth.

Suddenly, Mark faded into pixels himself, and his commentary cut out. His smooth baritone was replaced quickly by haunting static. Then, chilling silence.

The video switched to a poorly detailed face. Its lips moved ever so slightly, and you heard a raspy voice say: "Thank you." Thank you? For what? This was getting creepier by the second. You enjoyed a good psychological thriller once in a while. It wasn't Silence of the Lambs, but nothing would ever be that movie. Nothing like a good creepy video to make you unable to sleep for days. Man, you hoped it was just a creepy video. You were gonna be fine. A stupid little parody video like this couldn’t get you!

Could it?

You took back your statement as the video seemingly looped. Confused, you shook your mouse. It was on, but nothing changed. Mark's gameplay was suddenly interrupted by a short clip of him pleading "Help me". Your heart pounded. This wasn't funny anymore. Something had happened to Mark, and it was probably going to happen to you too. He clicked to start the game.

The video looped again, the music dipped in pitch slowly but surely, like a battery-run toy that was running on empty. Scared, you took off your headphones. No, wait, you couldn't. They wouldn't budge. Your desk chair stayed in place as well. The video suddenly cut to static again, growing in volume as the whacked-out screen included the words 'Containment Breached' and 'File Corrupted'. It flicked between the two phrases. You cried out in agony as the static grew vociferous and you couldn't mute it.

Suddenly, silence. A black screen.

You breathed unsteadily as you tapped your computer screen. Nothing! Well, maybe it was just a creepy video. Then again, there was the fact that you couldn’t move anywhere. So, whatever was about to happen, you were fucked. Actually, you were more than fucked. You were fucked with a ten-foot dildo, and that definitely was not an exaggeration.

Sure enough, the face reappeared moments later. It said 'thank you' for the second time. But this time it spoke again. ' _[f/n]. Sleep._ '

A black hand reached around from nowhere and smothered you. All sensation evaporated as you lost consciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally published at http://alexjackson1988.deviantart.com/art/MarkiplierxReader-Agateophobia-III-424518718. Watch "Mr. Kitty Saves the World" while you read at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eWfuY2-KDgI.


	4. Why Do You Run?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the reader tries to make sense of information received.

You were running. Sure, you’d had running dreams before, but you were running away from a horrible creature. You weren’t exactly sure what the thing you were running from was, but hell if you weren’t scared. Your heart pounded as the hallway before you seemed to stretch forever. The walls had messages scrawled in blood - your name, ‘run’, ‘help me’, stuff that normally wouldn’t scare you, but now there was the added bonus of being chased.

Horror. That was the only feeling left in you.

Hell. That’s where you were. You passed by random rooms, barred off from the hall. You tried to pry the bars apart but got nowhere. You felt whatever was chasing you start to grow closer, so you kept going.

Hopeless. That’s what it was. No matter what you did, your running was hopeless. You would be caught by your pursuer.

Terrified, you glanced over your shoulder. A hideous black form, topped with a white mask with a red face, gained on you. You opened your mouth to scream but could hear nothing besides the beating of your heart. It hastened as you kept running, running, running…

A clammy hand grabbed your shoulder.

You shrieked and jumped up, reeling around.

“Jesus, [f/n]!” Yami cried, having had his clipboard knocked from his hand by your reaction. You stood there a moment, breathing heavily and blinking until you fully came around.

Office.  _Your_ office. And there was no blood on the walls, nothing strange at all.

Except Yami was staring at you in shock. “What happened?”

“I…” You honestly didn’t know. You considered telling him the truth, but you’d sound just as crazy as any of the patients in the ward. Finally, you settled on summing up the past week: “I’ve had nightmares, on and off. Some I knew were dreams, and some felt real, too real. I don’t know what happened, but I’m starting to lose it, Aaron.”

“Shit, you’re really losing it. You called me Aaron,” he joked, but you didn’t react. “Maybe you’d like the day off," he suggested as he knelt down to collect his pages.

“No. No, maybe that’s what’s messing me up. I haven’t been this into a case in a while. Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever been into it so much. If I don’t figure out what’s up with Mark, I’m not gonna sleep well at night.”

“You aren’t, anyway.”

“That doesn’t matter. Mark needs help, and I’m the only one who can give it to him.”

“[l/n], I fear for your life. I can see fear in your eyes, there’s something going on with you.”

“I’m not crazy, Yami!” you yelled, lunging at him. He pulled back slightly.

“Seriously, what’s going on?” all joking aside, he stared at you. “I’ve seen you act out, but someone else must be in your body. What’ve you done with [f/n]?”

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have gotten up so quickly.”

“It’s okay, really.” You still felt bad, and of course your face betrayed this. “Hey,” Yami’s voice dropped to a comforting tone. You hated when people did that to you. It was borderline condescending. But Yami managed to not achieve that level of douchebaggery. “Look, [l/n], you’re the best doctor at Wesley. And I can’t have my best doctor screaming bloody murder every time she wakes up at her desk. I mean, you didn’t even leave work. You need to get away from this for a bit. It’s starting to affect you.” He seemed strangely insistent. Never had he tried to force you to get out of the hospital. What was going on?

“Like that wasn’t obvious. And as your best doctor, I respectfully decline your sending me away.” You turned back to your desk and organized the papers strewn across your desk.

“This isn’t healthy, [l/n]. Please, I’m begging you, not as an employer, but as a friend. I don’t want to see you in here too.”

That hit a nerve. “How do you know I haven’t been here, Yami?”

He narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Check the juvie records,” you said briefly and gathered your things, walking briskly out of your room, leaving Yami to wonder what the hell was up with you.

_Knock knock._

“Go away!” came Mark’s voice from the other side of the door.

You sighed quietly. “Mark, it’s me.”

“Who’s ‘me’?”

“[f/n].” You saw Mark get up and shuffle towards the door. “May I come in?”

“What, are you suddenly asking permission?”

“Mark, technically, I’m not supposed to be here.”

“No? Why not?”

“Let me in, and I’ll tell you.”

The door swung open towards you, and you walked in, passing Mark. His hand accidentally brushed yours, and your breath faltered for a moment. He returned next to his bed, but this time he didn’t sit down. “Man, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. Why're you coming to a schizo for help?”

"No one else would believe me."

"What's wrong?" he tilted his head, looking at you with all the kindness he had left.

“Hey, who’s the doctor here?” you chuckled nervously.

“You don’t need to be a doctor to see that you're creeped out. Is it me?”

“No, actually,” you furrowed your brow, “but I need to ask you about something.”

He held out a hand invitingly. “Ask away, seeing as I don’t have much of a choice.” He clasped his hands behind his back.

You pulled up your chair and looked up at him. “Why did you stop making videos?” The shadow crossed his face again.

“The, uh, incident. I’m sure you’ve got it down somewhere in your copious notes.”

“No, I mean...you could’ve just moved on.”

“You can’t  _move on_ , ya dingus,” his voice took on a sort of funny tone, “when you can’t sleep after playing games like that. You can’t move on from something that never leaves.”

“It was just a video game, Mark, you made a weird video and it was fine.”

“It wasn’t fine. If you’ve seen my videos...if you’ve seen  _that_ video...God. You saw how scared I was. You know what it did to me. You can tell that I’m not okay.”

“But it was just a game,” you reassured him. “It’s not real, it can’t get you.”

“You don’t understand, [f/n]!” he cried, throwing up his hands. “It is real.”

“Mark, calm down,” you held out a hand, “it’s not real. You’re safe here.”

“I’m not safe anywhere!” he flailed his arms. It was almost comical, but you feared for him. “No matter where I go, that dang thing is gonna come after me!”

For once, you had no idea what to say. Either your patients would respond and calm down or they would clam up and you’d leave them alone. But Mark? He was a puzzle, and you didn’t know where to begin. You cared way too much about the Rubix's cube that was Mark Fischbach.

“Mark, something happened,” you lowered your voice.

“Of course it did. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“No, shut up for a second. It happened to me.”

“And that’s the only reason you care, isn’t it?”

“I watched that video. The one with the cat.”

“There are tons of cat videos.”

“You know what I mean, Mark. That video. The one you don’t want to talk about. I watched it. But about halfway through, my chair literally stuck to the ground, and my headphones wouldn’t come off my head. My eardrums nearly bled because the sounds, they got loud, so loud,” you started to lose it, “and then that, that face, it said ‘thank you’. Then it told me to sleep, and something grabbed me. The next thing I knew, I was running fast and running away, but I wasn’t getting anywhere. There were no checkpoints, there was no objective, and I’m pretty sure that most running dreams don’t involve being pursued by something out of the seventh layer of hell. Now what in God's name is going on with you, and why am I seeing the same things that you’re seeing?” By now, your hands had grabbed his cotton shirt, bringing him close to your face. You stared him down, letting out your fear and anger in one ridiculous monologue.

And he stared right back at you. “If I knew how to stop him, I wouldn’t be here.”

“Him?” you released him, realizing what you’d done. “Stop who?”

“I can’t say his name, [f/n], or he’ll show up in this world.”

“This world? Mark, what is he?  _Who_ is he?”

“I can’t tell you!!” he screamed, grabbing his head. You stood up straight and watched him stumble backwards before he fell to his knees and dropped to the floor, hugging his legs. “I can’t, I can’t do it, I can’t play the game…”

“Game?” you knelt by him. “What game?” He whimpered something unintelligible. “Mark,  _what game?_ ”

“His game!”

“Whose game?”

“GET OUT!” he was suddenly on his feet again. You leapt up and stumbled backwards, your back hitting the door. His eyes filled with tears. “Get out, please, get out, I don’t want him to hurt you too, I want to be safe. I don’t want anyone else getting hurt.” This was either something straight out of a teen fantasy novel, or he was a complete and utter basket case. Either way, you connected with him. This was not the connection you liked having.

You breathed deeply. “Okay, Mark, I’m leaving,” you said gently. “I’ll come back in an hour or so, and we’ll talk again. I promise.”

He kept muttering to himself, so you slipped out of the room, hoping Yami wouldn’t catch you. Luckily, he didn’t, and you returned to the patient you were supposed to be helping without being noticed. Was insanity contagious? You sure hoped not. That was your worst fear, really, going insane. That’s the reason you almost didn’t come back to Wesley, because being in this place was liable to drive you crazy. But what better way to handle your own problems than by pushing them aside and helping others?

You knew perfectly well that you shouldn’t have come back here. But you didn’t care. Something drew you to this hospital, and you realized that the reason why wasn’t because you felt compelled to help. You wanted to make things right. You wanted to cover up the horrible times you had here as a teenager. You wanted…

You wanted to forget that you’d ever been committed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally published at http://alexjackson1988.deviantart.com/art/MarkiplierxReader-Agateophobia-IV-424522067.


	5. Nervous Breakdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Yami is a good friend.

After finishing up your session with Stanley, you left his room and glanced at your notes. Distracted by your clipboard, you bumped into Yami out of nowhere. He didn’t drop anything this time - he seemed prepared for you being all over the place.

“Hey, [l/n],” he greeted cheerfully.

“Whoa, Yami, what happened to you? You look surprisingly happy.”

“Am I? Well, I’m a good liar then.”

“What’s up?” you went to the side of the room and sat down on a bench with him.

“Are you sure you’ve got time, [l/n]?”

“I wouldn’t be sitting here if I didn’t.”

“Okay. So, I did read up on you. But the records didn’t tell me very much about what happened while you were committed.”

“So you want me to tell you?” He nodded. “I’m not gonna tell you everything, because most of it was pretty horrible.”

“What’d they do to you?”

“Among other things, they humiliated me in front of several other juvies.”

“How?”

“You know I was committed because of my anxiety.”

“I knew you had it before I knew about you being a former patient.” He was right. If you ever had an attack, he knew what to do. For a moment you recalled the first time you'd had an attack when he was around. Luckily he didn't do anything wrong, but later you told him how to deal. You jumped back to the question at hand.

“Well, they’d tease me, and everyone else would just... _stare_. They wouldn't say a word, but I knew they were picking me apart, that they hated me, that they, they were trying to…” You couldn’t breathe. Remembering the exact mood you were in at the time wasn’t the best thing. Your throat locked up and you couldn’t speak. Your eyes turned to Yami and you attempted to gesture and let him know what was happening.

“What?” he seemed just as concerned as you were, which really didn’t help (it made it worse).

“I can’t talk,” you mouthed.

“Attack?” he guessed immediately. You nodded quickly, freaking out. “Okay,” he grabbed your hand, “[f/n], look at me.” You did so. “Breathe.” And again, you tried to breathe, gaining some control of your autonomic system. “You’re okay, I promise. All the people who did that to you have long since been fired. I did a little digging, and you weren’t their only victim. They didn’t hate you specifically, they just had issues of their own that they had to get out on someone. But you’re okay now. They’re behind bars. And they’re not going to come hurt you because if they did, I wouldn’t even let them through the door.” He wrapped his arms around you. You hugged him back, shaking, beginning to cry. “You’re okay, I promise, [f/n]. I promise that everything bad that happened to you here is in the past. It can’t be changed, and that’s okay. But that doesn’t have to destroy you, okay? You’re a strong person, a wonderful doctor, and you care much more than any other doctor I’ve seen. You deserve to be here, and you are stronger than any of them were.” You clung to him for a few minutes while you waited out the attack.

Sniffling, you pulled away from him. “Thank you again, Yami. I’m sorry I freaked out.”

“Never apologize for something like that. I can only imagine how scary your time here actually was.”

“God, it was horrible. And I didn’t want to come back here at first, but when I heard that you wanted to work with me again, I was easily persuaded.” Yami was one of your best friends in college, but you two were separated when you went to grad school in the States and he stayed in England.

“Good to know that I’m the reason you’re here,” he smirked.

“Of course you are. I wouldn’t have had the balls to face this place again if you weren’t helping me along. I guess I’m one of your patients.”

“Are you okay?”

“You know better than to ask that,” you stood again.

“[l/n], what’s wrong?” he got up as well.

“Everything, Yami. I can’t sleep. And when I do, I dream vividly. No, not dream. I have nightmares. Constant nightmares. The exact same nightmares, in the exact same order, every single night, like I’m playing a videogame but I randomly quit before I’m killed.”

“Maybe you need medication.”

“To hell with medication, I need my brain to be scooped out with a melon baller and replaced with a normal person’s brain.”

“Do you really want that?”

“Yes!” you cried without hesitation.

“Then I’d lose one of the best people I’ve ever known,” he added, walking away. You rolled your eyes. He didn’t mean that, surely. Maybe you did need to take a break, maybe you needed meds.

Maybe you needed to keep working until you found the answer.

So for the same reason you came back to Wesley, you decided to dig even deeper than before. To do that, you would need to work night and day in addition to your time at the hospital with your patients, and you would need to Sam Winchester this and use what little research skill you still had after the mess that was college.

You went to visit your patient Felix and pushed your decision out of your mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally published at http://alexjackson1988.deviantart.com/art/MarkiplierxReader-Agateophobia-V-424733248.


	6. Raspy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things get serious.

That night, you returned home and found that the light switches didn’t work. “Darnit,” you muttered, not a big cusser. You flicked your main switch up and down a few times. Nothing. You considered finding the power supply and fixing it yourself, but you knew nothing about electricity other than it powered your computer and let you see things at night.

You dropped your stuff in its usual spot and went into your bedroom. As you changed out of your work clothes and into pajamas, you caught something out of the corner of your eye. Probably another mouse. There seemed to be a lot of those lately.

Desperate to prove that nothing was there, you pulled out your spare flashlight and waved it around. Nothing. Good, just how you liked it. You didn’t exactly like random things and black hands jumping out of cracks at you. It was all nonsense, surely. You breathed a sigh of relief and spun around to your door.

It sat shut.

You swore you hadn’t closed it when you came in. Now more than a little creeped out, you stood before it, watching something dark ooze out from the crack at the bottom. You stepped back a bit, but the stuff really was nothing, just your imagination, right?

Dear God, you hoped so.

Behind you there was a scuffling. You whipped around and pointed your flashlight around wildly. Nothing, again. You really were starting to see things. Maybe you just needed to sleep, you thought as your eyelids began to droop. You stumbled forward onto your bed, starting to pass out.

 _“Don’t sleep yet, [f/n], come play my game,”_  a voice hissed in your ear.

Your alertness did a 180. You rolled off the bed and scrambled to your feet. You looked around in fright, but the only way out was through that door.

Nervously, you turned the door handle.

You stepped out into your office. Wait, Wesley was on the other side of the city. Did you accidentally create a portal in your doorway? No, you couldn’t have. You would’ve noticed. Besides, you were no quantum engineer or whatever kind of person made portals through doors. Still confused, you continued to walk forward. All the lights were off, you noticed just as the door shut behind you, sealing you in.

Before you sat your desk, but it wasn’t your desk. Well, it looked exactly like it, but you could tell that it wasn’t your real desk. There was something off about it, and your computer as well. Not having much of a choice, you sat in front of your computer and groped around for your headphones.

 _“You don’t need headphones_ _,”_  came the voice again. You glanced around.

“What the fuck?” you forgot your personal ban on cursing. Really, you were startled. That’s totally normal, to cuss when you’re scared. Right? You didn’t care. You turned yourself back to the computer. It wasn’t on, but there was still a video thumbnail covering the whole screen. You tensely moved your mouse to start playing [the video](http://www.deviantart.com/users/outgoing?http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OkMo37pmNhA).

It was another Markiplier Let’s Play. But something was very wrong with him. Even though he tried to act bouncy as he started to play a horror game called Raspy Hill, you knew that he was being held there against his will, and so were you. He said something about having this game emailed to him. You remembered something about him getting another game the same way. Was that the video you saw a week ago?

“...I heard there were mannequins in this, and if you know  _me_ ,” you returned your attention to Mark’s narration, “you know that I do not like mannequins at all." So, definitely pediophobic. "But! Even though I have reservations about this, I’m gonna play it anyway because it’s gonna be entertaining for you to watch, so hooray for me.”

Oh God no, this must’ve come out after he was committed. You could tell by the haircut. But  _how_ _?_  How could he possibly come up with another video if he had no access to a computer?

The answer came quite simply. Mark was playing a game that wasn’t a game, it was real.

This was just the creepiest creepypasta you’d ever had the misfortune to be haunted by.

In the background, as Mark figured out the controls, you heard a jumble of child’s screams. Okay, creepy point number one, children in video games were always creepy. You watched him run away from creepy doll-like mannequins with buttons for eyes. Creepy point number two, anything that looked sewn was also creepy. Case in point, Coraline. The video quality was tinted red and less than stellar - but, of course, if this wasn’t one of his real playthroughs, the camera being used to record this wasn’t his, and it was probably terrible.

His screaming became more frequent and more terrified as he was bombarded by the creepy things. Though he tried to run toward the light, it was obvious that he wasn’t going to win. He must’ve known that too, because he masked this realization with being creeped out.

“Oh god, get away, get away,” he babbled, and suddenly his audio quality dipped as it had when you watched that other video. But this time, the screen cut momentarily to a picture of Mark screaming his head off, and the character in the game keeled over to signal death. The game cut to black as the static became louder and louder. You knew it was pointless trying to run. You shook in your seat as the static changed to a single, straight tone. Whatever was about to happen, you were knee-deep in Fucktown.

 _“I don’t quite feel like myself_ _,”_  came his voice, and a poorly lit video of Mark staring at the camera replaced the blackness. Random clips of him in the same situation cut in and out, similar to the part in a horror movie or episode of a show where the character was going insane.  _“I’ve been having strange dreams lately.”_  You became more rigid as you watched footage of the camera going through the game spliced in between videos of Mark.  _“But now you’re here.”_

“Oh shit,” you whimpered. And there he was again, staring you down. Mark. But it wasn’t Mark. You knew it wasn’t Mark. He didn’t stare at you with that intensity or with that level of darkness. This thing, whatever drove him to Wesley, was something entirely out of his control. You knew it was crazy, but this was some kind of creature making him act out of character.

_"And I’ll make you feel right at home.”_

You found that this voice, not coming through the speakers any longer but actually in your head and addressing you, was the same one that told you to play its game. There was more gameplay footage, and then there was not-Mark again, staring over his glasses into your soul. You began to curl into yourself, pushing as far back into the chair as you could to get away from whatever was trying to fuck with you.

_“Welcome to Raspy Hill.”_

“No, please no,” you began to cry and whimper, reduced to the same person you were as a patient in Wesley’s juvenile ward all those years. “Please, no, let me go, please."

The footage came up again, and the mannequins attacked the screen. But this time, they came out and attacked you.

“STOP!” you screamed, covering your face with your arms and pushing backwards in your chair, knocking it over and spilling onto the ground.

As you came to moments later, you heard him one last time.  _“_ _Enjoy your stay.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally published at http://alexjackson1988.deviantart.com/art/MarkiplierxReader-Agateophobia-VI-424737805.


	7. Mannequins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which someone throws the reader through nightmares.

You got to your feet and blinked hard, trying to clear up your vision. Your stomach twisted over itself tenfold when you saw exactly what you’d seen in the video.  
  
Except now, it was real. You were in the game. You were gonna get chased by those creepy children, and you had no way out. You pinched yourself and winced. Not a dream.   
  
You wondered where the hell Mark was, if he was anywhere. Goddamnit, you should never have watched those videos, never should've returned to Wesley in the first place. You were a complete and utter idiot.   
  
The noises behind you grew louder, louder, and you glanced over your shoulder before taking off. Was there some sort of place you could hide out? Could you maybe get back to your world? Or were you doomed to be in this place forever?   
  
You tried to be hopeful. A few mannequins knocked you over, but you scrambled to your feet and kept running.   
  
Soon, however, you couldn't run anymore, and you briefly considered turning around and accepting your fate. So you did. You shut your eyes tightly and let the things take you.  
Silence. A warm wind passed over your skin. Your eyelids fluttered open.   
  
Static in your eyes and in your ears. Okay, so whatever was happening started to lose control. Maybe that's what you had to do - you had to refuse to play the game.  _Whatever this wacko has in mind_ , you thought,  _if I could just not do it, it might throw him off_. Yes! That was it. The free will that was apparent in your decision gave you a sense of pride.  
  
That went out the window as you completely came to and realized that you hadn't moved an inch from where you started.   
  
Red.   
  
Mannequins.   
  
Static.   
  
"What do I have to do?" you asked no one. "Who's running this whole thing, anyway?" You were quickly becoming habituated to the mannequins shoving you around. Even if they completely fucked you over, you were gonna come back anyway. You really were in the middle of a life-size horror game, on an endless loop.   
  
It was then, standing there and being bombarded by mannequins, that you began to piece things together. So whatever Mark got from that first creepy game had a hold of him. You had to locate the center of his power, if this was similar to a video game, and destroy it, or at least get the hell out.   
  
But where was he? Where was Mark Fischbach? Furthermore, were there any buildings on Raspy Hill? You wondered if this was simply a flat playing field, like a room in a Saw movie. Either you played the game, or you'd never come out alive.   
  
This was worse. You were alive, in a sense, but you could never have the sweet release of death. You'd never thought seriously about wanting to die. Now, however, you wished you had that option.   
  
" _Are you enjoying my game?_ " a voice slithered in your ear, this time that of a little girl's. Awesome. Whatever had you in its demonic game could change its appearance. There was no feasible way for you to know its true form. If you did, your eyeballs would probably burn out.   
  
"How can I enjoy something that I didn't have a say in?" you challenged, crossing your arms and addressing the sky.   
  
" _If you are considering resistance, consider it impossible,_ " the voice deepened. " _No matter what path you choose, you will remain in my game for eternity._ "  
  
"That seems like a long time."   
  
Wait.   
  
Something just occurred to you.  
  
You'd watched enough of Mark's videos to know that not playing the game correctly doomed you to die - or, in this case, be trapped forever. What if you actually played his game, but you cheated? You had no idea how exactly you were going to achieve this, but you figured there were at least two paths in every situation. One of them had to be one that the thing - you decided to nickname it the Gamemaker - would hide from you. But you could get to it if you looked hard enough.   
  
If you played the game, the Gamemaker wouldn't suspect a thing. Unless he could read your mind, he couldn't figure out what you were doing until you'd found out how to kill him.   
  
Man, you should've been in one of those old horror movies. You'd have figured out who the killer was in minutes and turned him in before too many people died.   
  
"Okay," you shoved some of the mannequins aside. "I'll play your game."   
  
And you bolted straight into them, ignoring the horrible pain that you felt whenever their skin rubbed against yours, which was everywhere. You kept your eyes narrowed so you wouldn't freak yourself out. The screams grew louder still, but you blocked them out, knowing that if you became scared, you'd lose. And you weren't going to lose.   
  
Suddenly, you ran smack into a red door, making you fall on your ass. The mannequins jumped on you, but with a great cry you leapt up and shoved them away. You lunged forward to open the door.  
  
The moment your hand touched metal, your vision darkened. No more mannequins, thank God, but all you could see was a large metal stove, like the old ones you saw in movies. Actually, all you could really see was smoke or steam coming from its core.   
  
Unsure of what else to do, you took a few hesitant steps forward. Then a few more. Fairly soon, you were walking, nearly gliding, across the floor, going down corridors. You couldn't see much. You wished this was like Slender, where you at least had a flashlight or a night vision camera. No such luck.   
  
On your way to whatever lied before you, a tinkling of bells danced around your ears. It was that 'neener, neener' sort of melody. However, the creepiness jacked up quite a bit when you thought of how childish the tune was. Great, first you were gonna get violated by mannequins, and now you were stuck in a factory full of them.   
  
The fourth time through, the tune abruptly ended. You stopped, looking around. Of course you still saw nothing. Would it kill the Gamemaker to give you a flashlight?!   
  
" _Welcome, [f/n], to the Abandoned Mannequin Factory!_ " came an eerily chipper woman's voice. You stopped short, still taking this in. No, screw it, you had to keep going, and you did. You wondered if hugging the wall would work to keep anything from popping out at you.   
  
Mark's face jumped in front of you. With an exclamation, you stumbled back, nearly falling but catching yourself just in time. But there was nothing there when you looked again. What the hell? What was this guy trying to accomplish? Did he think that if he scared you, you'd give up? You already tried that!  
  
You wondered what would happen if you looked over your shoulder.  
  
Bad idea. The moment you took notice of a row of mannequins, a scream startled you.   
  
 _They're just mannequins,_  you told yourself,  _not like those things on the hill_. You breathed shakily, trying to regain your sanity, but it was slipping fast.   
  
You slipped past them and kept searching. At one point, you stumbled upon a pink mustache. You started to tuck it in your pocket when you saw that it glowed. Ignoring the weird factor, you shone the light around and found that you could see slightly better. So with the help of a mustache, you located a door not unlike the one you found before.  
  
You found yourself looking down on a room with white walls and orange carpet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally published at http://alexjackson1988.deviantart.com/art/MarkiplierxReader-Agateophobia-VII-425704604.


	8. Breaking the Map

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the reader realizes that Stanley isn't crazy, and neither is she.

The first thing you heard was a muffled voice.   
  
“When Stanley came to a set of two open doors, he entered the door on his left.”   
  
British. Okay. You looked down and noticed that there was some kind of invisible ceiling, punctuated every few feet by a black square. Standing before the doors was…wait.   
  
 _Oh, no way_.   
  
So Stanley wasn’t crazy. He was just simply stuck in the game as well. This one in particular was tailored to his greatest fear, just like Raspy Hill was Mark's greatest fear (that being mannequins). Now you understood why he talked in the third person, and why he spoke with a British accent. He was narrating his own game, perhaps as an extension of the Gamemaker into the real world.  
  
That was even more terrifying than Raspy Hill.   
  
Wait a moment. That’s exactly what he was trying to do. The Gamemaker, whatever he was or he wanted at that moment, ultimately wanted access into the real world. You’d read about enough taking-over-the-world villains to know that that’s what he wanted. He wanted to turn the whole world into _his game_.   
  
And you were running the Beta Test. Awesome.   
  
No, hold on. You could've sworn you remembered something Stanley had said. It was his game.  
  
As you tried to remember, the invisible floor gave way beneath you, and you tumbled down into the room behind Stanley.   
  
He jumped and turned around to you. "[f/n]?" he stammered, running to help you up. "Are you okay?"  
  
"Well, I just tumbled down from an invisible floor while trying to figure out where the hell I am, but yeah, I'm okay. I'm not dead."  
  
"In here, you can never be sure," he looked straight at you. Fear was all that was left in his eyes.   
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"I've played nearly every ending to this...this game that I'm in. This parable or whatever. I go in the right door, the Narrator gets mad. I go in the left door, I win the game but I come back and play over and over. It's hell, [f/n]."  
  
"Stanley, I just got out of someone else's game. Does a Raspy Hill ring a bell?"  
  
"Raspy Hill? No, I don't think so..."  
  
"Never mind. You said something about different endings."  
  
"Yes, there's about, oh, seven. One where the Narrator and I forge a new path and then he restarts and forgets, the good ending where I live, the bad ending where the Narrator goes nuts and kills me with neurotoxins, and so on and so forth. It doesn't matter what ending I have, because he'll still...he'll still be there. I started in Room 427 and will restart there forever."  
  
"That explains why you hate that room. In a way, you're stuck in it. No wonder you wouldn't let us remove you from the room, because the Narrator wouldn't let you."  
  
"Yeah. Damnit, [f/n], I want to kill him."  
  
"We will, Stanley. We just need to figure out how." You both looked at the two open doors.  
  
"Maybe we should restart the game?"  
  
"How could we possibly restart without having an ending?"  
  
"There's always a restart button. You just have to find it."   
  
" _That's it, I'm restarting the game,_ " boomed the Narrator, clearly this time. " _I can't have Stanley cheating with somebody else_."   
  
You blinked and suddenly you were in a tiny office in front of a tidy desk. "My desk," Stanley gestured lamely. "I used to push buttons. Then one day...well, one day, I got up and wondered what was going on. That's the game that I'm stuck in. I'm never going to stop it."   
  
"Except now, you've got somebody to help," you pointed out.   
  
"C'mon, this way," he led you out of the room. Suddenly, the Narrator returned.   
  
" _All of his co-workers were gone. What could it mean?_ " You heard Stanley mocking him behind you and grinned to yourself. " _Stanley decided to go to the meeting room. Perhaps he had simply missed a memo._ " Although your anxious companion began to pass the desks marked with yellow numbers, you paused when you noticed the windows. There was a pink mustache sitting on the sill.  
  
"Hey, Stanley?"   
  
"Yeah?" he wondered.   
  
"Could we get out through there?"   
  
Stunned, he froze in the doorway that would lead to the next area. Instead of the door shutting, it stayed open when he went to join you.   
  
"I don't know," he said honestly, "but it's worth a try." The two of you walked over to the desk in front of the blazing-white window. As you reached out to go through the window, you found that you couldn't lift your legs.  
  
"Um, is this normal?" you wondered. "I can't seem to jump."  
  
"No, that's also part of my game," Stanley mentioned. "No jumping."   
  
"What, were you an Olympic athlete and didn't tell me in our sessions?"   
  
"You know me, [f/n]. You know I was a happy kid, and then I grew up and couldn't jump anymore because of my patellar tendinitis."  
  
"So you were already living a nightmare?"  
  
"And now he's given me the illusion of choice by giving me, you know, those two open doors."   
  
"Then we climb on this desk."  
  
It took you a while, and some thinking outside the box, but soon you two were crouched on the windowsill. He grabbed your arm and looked at you nervously. You shot him an understanding smile as you pulled him through the window.   
  
Almost immediately, you hit the ground. You and Stanley got onto your feet when you heard the Narrator. " _Really? Do you really think you're going to just break my map?_ "  
  
"I'm tired of you putting me through this game!" Stanley suddenly jeered to the sky. You nodded in approval as he continued. "All those endings, giving me the illusion of choice, and not being able to jump? No way. I'm done with it. I'm going to keep walking until I find something of use, and I'm taking [f/n] with me, because my psychiatrist is surprisingly a better companion than you." You shifted a little at the compliment and patted his back lightly. Since there was no response, you assumed that the Narrator had given up. Good riddance!  
  
"That feels better, doesn't it?" you said quietly. "Now, let's walk." And you two began to walk away from the windows.   
  
" _Not so fast,_ " the Narrator's voice suddenly changed from British to American. You halted. " _You think you're going to break this map, don't you, [f/n]? I guess without you, Stanley would never have escaped_." The Gamemaker was the Narrator. Actually, you'd figured that out a while ago.   
  
"You're dang right he wouldn't have!" you crossed your arms. "Got a problem, buster?"   
  
" _Yes. My problem is that you refuse to play my game._ "  
  
"Oh, believe me, I'm playing it. I didn't make Stanley stay in his room and not play. I played your game, dude, and if you don't like it, eat my shorts!" Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Stanley smile. If you were gonna defy this asshole, you were gonna do it together.   
  
"I feel a lot less crazy now," he told you.  
  
"I don't. I feel more crazy."   
  
" _Alright, then, [f/n],_ " the Narrator's British tone returned. " _If you don't want to play my game, I suppose you'd rather play someone else's. But beware. You may suffer a little...Amnesia._ "   
  
The floor splintered beneath your feet, and you grabbed Stanley's hand, pulling him down with you. The last thing you remember is a blood-curdling scream from everywhere around you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally published at http://alexjackson1988.deviantart.com/art/MarkiplierxReader-Agateophobia-VIII-425919227.


	9. Survival of the Doctor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the reader finds Felix and starts to figure everything out.

When you came to again, you were in an old dungeon, in a cell. You groaned and rubbed your eyes, unable to see for a moment. Clearing quickly, your eyes showed you cobblestone walls with occasional splatters of blood and some obscene things written in red. The bars in front of you were red with rust - or was that blood? You couldn't tell, and you weren't going to find out. As you took in your surroundings, you heard water dripping in the distance. One thing you didn't see was Stanley.   
  
Shit, where was he? He couldn't just disappear like that! The Gamemaker was definitely not playing fair.  
  
Oh, he was going to pay.   
  
"Is there anybody here?" suddenly came a voice. You pressed back into the wall, your breath shuddering in the cool air. A light flickered as a shadow came around the corner and someone appeared a few feet away from you. You went dead silent as he turned around and caught your eye. Shit, he's seen me, your mind screamed. This is it, this is the end.  
  
"[f/n]?"  
  
 _You've got to be kidding me_.   
  
"Felix?" you blurted, standing away from the wall. The Swede looked at you, holding a flickering lantern up to light your face. "What's going on?"   
  
"You're in my head!" he exclaimed. "Well, not really, but you're in basically my worst nightmare."   
  
"Now I can see what you can see," you mumbled, "and I don't like it."  
  
"Believe me, neither do I. Hey, do you want me to get you out of this cage?"  
  
"No, I'll get out myself," you said sarcastically.   
  
"If you say so," he turned and started to leave.  
  
"Actually, though, I need you to open the door," you called after him. He faced you again.  
  
"You could just try opening it."  
  
Gently, you pushed the bars. Sure enough, the door opened wide, creaking loudly. You made a gesture of shushing at it as you walked out. "Thanks, dude."   
  
"As long as you're here, you might as well just call me Pewds or Pewdie or whatever."  
  
"I like Felix better. Using your username seems more fangirly than I'd like to be."  
  
"Why?"   
  
"I'm your psychiatrist, Felix, I'm not a fan of your videos."  
  
"I'm offended," he pouted. You rolled your eyes.  
  
"Alright, where's the way out of here?"   
  
All joking left his expression. "There's no way out."   
  
"Really? Come on. There's got to be somewhere that the game doesn't go, or that will break it so we can get out of here."   
  
"If there was one, I would've seen it. I've played enough horror games to know how to get out of here, if there was a way."  
  
"Do you mean games like this kind of game, like real life, or in your normal life?"  
  
"In my normal, not-crazy life. You already know about that," he reminded you.  
  
"I do?"   
  
"You know my username, too."  
  
"But I called you Felix."  
  
"And you still do."  
  
"Because you're my patient."  
  
"You mean I'm not your friend?"  
  
"At this point, you're an ally. Are we gonna bicker, or are we gonna think outside the box?"   
  
"I wasn't bickering."  
  
"I was," you elaborated as he started to walk down the hall. A few times, things jumped out at you, but mostly you two were fine. It was actually a lot easier, playing with someone else. That was probably why horror games were single-player, you decided, because it was harder. You figured out that Felix's nightmare wasn't something physical like mannequins or abstract like the illusion of choice. His greatest fear was being chased and that feeling being replicated over and over, still intense every time it happened. That was close to your own fears.   
  
"You know," he spoke quietly when you were out of range of the horrible monsters that chased after you, "I never thought I'd be running from creepy things with my doctor."  
  
"I never thought you were actually completely sane and just trapped in hell," you replied. "I mean, Mark seemed pretty sane..."  
  
"Mark? You mean Markiplier Mark? I knew him a while ago, when he started making videos. We played together a couple of times. But trapped in here? I didn't think it was possible."  
  
"He was a patient at Wesley." You stopped short.  
  
"What? Did you hear something?"  
  
"No, it just occurred to me. The people who I've seen so far in this game are current inmates at the hospital."  
  
"Never heard you say 'inmates' before."  
  
"Well, it's not exactly a hotel. I mean, you were in there, and Mark was in there, and so was Stanley."  
  
"Were you?" You swallowed hard and nodded. "Can I ask why?" Usually he was pretty funny, but right now he'd decided to be low-key. (He had to be. You were being chased by God knows what and you had no route of escape.)  
  
"Anxiety. I used to have attacks so bad that I couldn't understand people who were trying to help me out. They ended up hating me. And, well...the doctors and nurses who were 'assisting' completely destroyed me."  
  
"How did you get out, [f/n]?" he wondered in shock.  
  
"I never knew for sure, but I think one of the good doctors assessed that I was fit to return to the world and sent me away. I didn't see who it was. It would be nice to know."   
  
You reached to open the door in front of you. On the other side stood a man who looked a lot like Yami, but you didn't feel the urge to trust him so readily.   
  
"Quick, this way," he pressed, gesturing for you two to come along. "I've found the way out."   
  
"How do I know you're the real Yami?"  
  
"Fake Yami wouldn't know that you saved him from humiliation at graduation by falling on your ass in front of everyone." You remembered that well. Okay, so he was real.   
  
When you hesitated, he screamed and pointed behind you.  
  
You whipped around to find Felix in the arms of one of those creatures. Although you dashed forward to get him out, Yami yelled for you to come with him.  
  
"Felix!" you screamed as you felt your boss drag you through the dark door. "No! I have to save him!"   
  
"It's not worth it!" Yami told you over the screaming.   
  
As the heavy door shut before you, the last thing you heard was Felix yelling your name, then gargling, and silence.   
  
This was quickly becoming survival of the doctor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally published at http://alexjackson1988.deviantart.com/art/MarkiplierxReader-Agateophobia-IX-426128883.


	10. Yami

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Yami reveals that he did something dumb but offers the reader a chance to make it better.

"Let me go! Let me go!" you thrashed wildly in Yami's arms.  
  
"Jesus, [f/n], calm down, I'm not going to kill you," he released you as you spun to face him. The two of you were now standing on a light grey square in the middle of a pitch black world.   
  
"I don't care that you're not going to kill me, Yami, why'd you take me out of the room?"  
  
"You would've been killed along with Felix, and you would've had to restart the game again with no way out."   
  
"Bullshit." He blinked in surprise at your curse. "We were fine until you broke the map."  
  
"How else was I going to get you out?"  
  
"We could've taken him with us." Yami's anger faded into sadness. "What? What's wrong? Is this something like they've been dead and I've been dreaming this whole time?"  
  
"No. I need to tell you something."  
  
"So, tell me."  
  
"I knew that you had been a patient at Wesley, though I didn't know you personally. I didn't make the connection until you told me."  
  
"What connection?"   
  
"[l/n], I checked you out of Wesley."  
  
So he saved you from those bastards who psychologically destroyed you. Okay, you didn't hate him as much as you did.   
  
"I guess I owe you one, then," you replied.   
  
"A lot of people do. You, though, I'm not worried about. I just want to help you."  
  
"I trust you, Yami, I've known you for a while."   
  
"There's a reason I called you back to Wesley. After I dismissed the three guys - do you remember their names?"  
  
Unfortunately, you did. "Jordan, Sparkles, and Lewis."  
  
"They were gone for a while, but soon I noticed that the people who were in when you were there stopped aging. It was like the hospital was a sort of time capsule. I was fine, but they weren't. They didn't improve. That is, until you showed up. You knew how to deal with them better than the lackeys."  
  
"I'm a doctor, after all."  
  
"I thought you had the key to defeat the real runner of Wesley. That time you were sick a few months back, when that bug was going around, Jordan paid me a visit. He brought his friends, who call themselves the Creatures. They're minions of the thing running the games. They threatened me, saying that if I didn't do...something...they'd give me up to him."  
  
"Him? You mean like the Gamemaker?"  
  
"If that's what you want to call him, sure. Or Darkiplier."  
  
"Darkiplier? Sounds like Markiplier."  
  
"He takes Mark's form now, ever since Mark was committed. I did what I had to do."  
  
"Wait, Yami, what did you do?"   
  
"I..." He winced. "...may have bound your soul to the hospital. Same with all the other patients."  
  
"You what? How did you do that?"  
  
"I can't remember. All I know is, when I finished, Jordan told me that I was safe and that you would not be able to stay away from Wesley for more than 24 hours. But when I watched you these past weeks trying to figure out what was going on, I couldn't do it. I told him that he couldn't keep you in the hospital like that. As punishment, I got trapped in my own game."  
  
"Are we going to play it?"  
  
"Nah, I broke that too. Point is, we have to sever our souls from this place."  
  
"I figured that out. Will that save Mark and Felix, and Stanley?"  
  
"Honestly, I don't know."  
  
"Do you know where he has his, like, center of power?"  
  
"I think I do, but I've never been able to get in."  
  
"Maybe I can. I'm pretty good at puzzles."   
  
"Then let's call him." Yami cupped his hands over his mouth. "Hey Darkiplier!"   
  
A low hum surrounded you. " _Aaron, what is it this time?_ "   
  
"I have found a traitor to your games."  
  
" _What, the one called [f/n]? They are not of concern to me._ "  
  
"But sir, they insist on speaking to you directly."  
  
Deathly silence. Out of nowhere, a towering ornate door materialized in front of you. It opened with an unearthly creak. You glanced at Yami, more scared than you'd ever been. You felt an oncoming attack, but you actively pushed down your symptoms and breathed regularly. If you were going to freak out, you weren't going to do it while confronting that bastard.   
  
The two of you walked through the door into a large room.  
  
" _Welcome to My Dimension._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally published at http://alexjackson1988.deviantart.com/art/MarkiplierxReader-Agateophobia-X-426371808.


	11. Negotiations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the reader tries to bargain with the Gamemaker and meets an old friend.

Yami disappeared when you looked back at him. Not that you were surprised, but you were a little confused.   
  
" _So you refuse to play my game, [f/n],_ " the Gamemaker's voice hissed from the shadows. You glanced around the room but had no light to see anything. You sensed a presence across the room. Assuming it to be him, you stood strong and gathered your wits.  
  
"Damn right I do," you stated with more confidence than you actually had. "I know my soul is bound to this hospital...or, I guess, you."  
  
" _Did Aaron tell you that? He can get carried away in telling my players about me._ " You heard a groan of pain to your left. When you flicked your head to look, you lost all the calm you'd found for one moment. Yami was strapped onto a bed and tilted upwards nearly 90 degrees. " _I suppose I will have to punish him._ "   
  
A scorpion-like creature, black bodied with a red stinger, crawled from the backside and stayed on his chest. That was way too big to be a scorpion. No, that thing was about the size of a microwave.   
  
The scorpion raised its tail.   
  
Before you really registered your action, you grabbed its tail and stopped it from stinging. Yami kept his eyes clamped shut in anticipation. The scorpion disintegrated into golden flecks and dissolved into air. Yami vanished as well.   
  
" _I've had enough of your silly defiance,_ " the Gamemaker suddenly revealed himself, stepping into a disembodied light. You faced the center of the room. Seriously, there were no light sources. How could you see him? " _Of all the souls bound to mine, yours insists on tugging. You're literally tugging on my heartstrings, and it hurts. A lot._ " You gaped at his form. It was identical to Mark but without glasses and with a black button-up shirt instead of the graphic tee you had seen in so many of his videos. He quickly caught you staring. " _You like this form? I've been reliably informed that you trust Mark. This is the closest thing to a vessel I can use. Of course, I need to keep the actual creature alive. Would you like to see him?_ "   
  
He shot his arm out behind him and stepped to the side. The real Mark hanged from chains around his wrists on the other side of the room. He wore all white. Over his eyes was a bloody bandage, and he had no expression. You nearly cried with despair. If he was still conscious, he was in great pain, and if not, he was in danger. You dashed towards him but ran smack into a glass wall.  
  
" _Oh, I'm very sorry, did you want to see him a little closer?_ " the Gamemaker - or Darkiplier, given his form - patronized. You pressed your fingers to the glass. " _No touching allowed. Games are only sight and sound. Mine are no different._ "   
  
"You give him back right now," you faced him again, furious.   
  
" _Well, I would, but there's a catch._ " He began to walk towards you. " _He's the only reason I can become carnal. His soul is bound to me because his mind was so easy to corrupt. After losing his father, and losing nearly everything, he used games as an outlet. But he didn't know that I was waiting for the right mortal to infect. Hiding in that game proved to be the best plan I'd ever made._ " Now his hands were on either side of you, trapping you against the glass. " _Once I absorb him totally, you will also become mine._ "  
  
"Wait, what?" you blinked.   
  
" _Didn't he tell you? You were the only one who broke his game. That's why you're a threat, [f/n]. But if you love him, perhaps you would be foolish enough to make a deal._ " He traced his fingers along your jawline. His fingers on your skin made you tingle with desire. Your jaw slacked. You knew it wasn't Mark, yet you wanted to pretend that it was. " _I'll let him go,_ " he cupped his hand behind your neck, " _if you promise to play my game forever. I'll cut him loose, no catches, and your link becomes stronger than ever before._ " He captured your lips in his own, like a tangible dream. " _You stay with me, and he goes._ " Your lips were under his again, and your eyes slid shut as he pressed himself against you. His free hand snuck under your shirt, tickling your skin, and stroked down your stomach, stopping just above the hem of your pants. His tongue shoved into your mouth, and that's when you shoved him back.   
  
"No," you shook your head in disgust. "Get your hands off of me, you immortal pervert," you grabbed his wrists and held them away from you. "I'm not leaving here without Mark."   
  
" _That's too bad,_ " his gaze darkened more than you thought possible. " _He's near death. The only way to save your stupid little crush would be to kill me, but you can't do that._ " Suddenly, his face shifted for an instant to an alien-like complexion. You pushed him back as he watched his figure change from Mark to a cross between Kratos from God of War and a classic big-eyed alien. And its skin was pitch-black. Ew. Not attractive.   
  
" _What?! But that's impossible! My form, why isn't it like that wretched Hawaiian boy?_ "   
  
"Because I'm not just Hawaiian. I'm half-Asian, half-European, and German too," you heard the voice you least expected. You whipped to the glass wall just as it shattered soundlessly. You ran forward to Mark, who had stirred but was unable to free himself. "Alright, alright, alriiiight."   
  
"Mark!" you cried, holding his chin up with one hand. "You're alive!"  
  
"Just barely," he smirked lopsidedly. "But my eyes are in bad shape. I can't see. Is there a gorgeous doctor standing in front of me?"   
  
You laughed breathlessly. "I thought it was all over, I thought you were dead."   
  
"Me? Never! I may be easily startled, but I'm not weak."   
  
" _ENOUGH!_ " the Gamemaker roared behind you, shattering your elation. " _Face me, mortal, and feel the wrath of the Lord of the Dimension!_ "   
  
"That's got to be the lamest title ever. Do people actually call you that?" you raised an eyebrow, turning to face him again.   
  
You blinked and found yourself in a windowless room, blood of course dripping from the walls.  
  
" _Tremble before my true form, mortal!_ "   
  
Seriously? A giant tentacle monster? Well, then again, you didn't have a weapon.   
  
This time, you were really screwed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally published at http://alexjackson1988.deviantart.com/art/MarkiplierxReader-Agateophobia-XI-426544599.


	12. The Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the reader does something cool. Like, really cool. Just read it, you'll see.

Towering before you, the true form of the Gamemaker gnashed its teeth. There had to be some way to knock him out or even kill him. Where was his weakness?  
  
You dodged an incoming tentacle attack and couldn't help feeling like Link.   
  
 _"Fight me like a man, [f/n]!"_  
  
You wanted to correct him, but you were terrified beyond your ability to talk. Quit stalling, you screamed in your mind, kill him.  
  
But how?  
  
The monster reared its head, or its equivalent, and you saw a bright pink underbelly. Your hand dove into your pocket and you fished out the mustache you found earlier.   
  
"What the hell," you figured, and you tossed the glowing thing right at its belly before it could hunch over again.   
  
Perfect! You watched the Gamemaker hiss and convulse. "My one weakness," it gurgled, "small objects!"   
  
Was that sarcasm? You had no idea. You didn't care.   
  
You glanced around the room for other stuff to throw when Stanley poked his head out from the shadows, brandishing a shotgun. He tossed a pistol at you. Miraculously, you managed to load it without shooting yourself. Taking aim proved simple after you dodged an incoming attack.   
  
After a long battle in which you shot the Gamemaker without getting hit, Stanley turned to you. "My bond, it's dissolving..." Indeed, he was disappearing too. You ran forward but he shook his head. "Don't worry, [y/n]. I'll see you soon. Shoot him down."   
  
You fired at the creature's underbelly. It screamed in agony and shivered three times before collapsing and dissolving into black dust. You stumbled back as it swept around you and faded into the air. You dropped your gun in your momentary panic.   
  
Released from his prison, Mark removed the bandage over his eyes and found that he could see again. When he noticed you across the room, he yelled: "Hey, doctor! Got a cure for being trapped in a parallel dimension?"  
  
You turned to him, surprised. He gave you a smirk and a wave, still in his hospital uniform. You ran to him, and he did the same, embracing you when you met. Just like that scene in every romance movie ever, he swung you around in his arms as you laughed joyously. Once he set you down, you hugged him.   
  
"You saved me," he said quietly.   
  
"Of course I did. I couldn't let the Gamemaker hurt you. Or me, for that matter."  
  
"At least buy me a drink first!"   
  
"Maybe when we get back to our dimension." Behind you, a door swung open, and there stood Yami, covered in black gunk.   
  
"What happened?" he gasped, out of breath. "I was minding my own business, being trapped by this evil spirit guy, and then I heard an explosion..." He stepped in, and the door closed behind him.   
  
"Well, [f/n] here killed the Gamemaker," Mark slid an arm around your shoulders and reported proudly. You stood tall, feeling good for the first time in a while. "And did really well too."  
  
"You killed him?" Yami clarified. You nodded. "Then we aren't bound to Wesley anymore. We can move on!" He spun to the door.   
  
"Wait, Yami," you held out a hand. "I don't want to just move on. There are plenty of people who still need our help. Not everyone was bound to the hospital. They still need assistance."  
  
"You're right," he nodded. "Yeah, you're right, let's get back to Wesley." He opened both doors and you found yourself back in the normal world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally published at http://alexjackson1988.deviantart.com/art/MarkiplierxReader-Agateophobia-XII-427434092.


	13. Pardon Me, Mr. Warfstache

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we skip a few months ahead.

A few months later, you exited a patient’s room, elated at having nearly cured them. You’re not gonna go into detail, but hell if you weren’t grinning like an idiot when you went back to your office.   
  
Sitting at your desk, having recently been checked out, Mark spun around in your chair like a child, cheering and laughing. You shook your head but grinned even wider. You went around to the other side of your desk and physically stopped the chair. Startled, Mark glanced up.   
  
“Pardon me, Mister Warfstache,” you noticed the pink cartoon ‘stache above his upper lip and tore it off. “But you’re in my chair.”  
  
“Your chair’s really comfy, though!” he whined as you tossed your clipboard onto the desk.   
  
“This chair’s reserved for those of us with a PhD in psychiatry. Specifically, me,” you rolled your eyes. “Come on, out of the chair.” He frowned and got up, going around to the other side and sitting in a chair. “You can sit in it if you ever become a doctor.”  
  
“If I became a doctor, would you be my nurse?” he asked, crossing his legs and putting both elbows on the desk.   
  
“Why, so you could scream ‘Shut up, Nurse’ if you got annoyed at me?” You pulled over your clipboard and a pen and began to write down some extra notes.   
  
“Yeah.”   
  
“You idiot.” He broke into a gappy grin and rested his chin on his hands. “You do realize you could’ve gone and started over, right? Like, you could’ve gone back to gaming?”  
  
“Well, I’ve started that. I got in contact with Bob, and he’ll let me room with him again, but only if I’ve got a job.”  
  
“And that’s why you’re here, assisting Yami?”  
  
“Yeah! It’s fun! Besides, I get to come in and see you every day.”   
  
“Why do you do that, anyway? There’s tons of other doctors here.”  
  
“They didn’t save my life.” You blushed a little, staring at your notes. “And they’re not you.”  
  
“Clearly not. Their names aren’t [f/n] [l/n]. Like, that’s obvious.”   
  
“[f/n], don’t you get it?” You looked up from your clipboard again. “I could’ve gone and worked somewhere else after Yami declared me fit to go back into the world. I could’ve started completely over and not bothered with Wesley at all. But I didn’t. Man, are you really that clueless? Like, do I just have to tell you?”   
  
“I guess you have to, Mark, I’m confused.” You left your stuff on your desk and went over to a small window in the wall. “What?”   
  
“I like you, [f/n]. Like, a lot. And I was wondering if…” He trailed off, glancing away.   
  
“If?”   
  
“Nah, you wouldn’t.”  
  
“Mark, I’m seriously confused, what’s wrong?” you went over to him. “You can tell me anything, you know. Confidential and all that.”   
  
“I don’t know,” he got up.  
  
“Oh, stop with the whole ‘I don’t know’ bullshit,” you groaned. “Just tell me what’s up.”   
  
He grabbed your arms, startling you. You stared at him, wide-eyed in surprise.   
  
“What,” you mouthed, and he giggled. “What the hell? You dick, do you really think that’s funny?”   
  
“Gotcha,” his nose touched yours. He kissed you passionately, pulling you close. You thought you were supposed to be okay with kissing him, but it caught you so off guard that you froze. He pulled back. “Sorry, was that too much?”  
  
“N-no, that just kind of...came out of nowhere.”   
  
“Well, do you kinda get it?”  
  
“What, you want to be my boyfriend?” He nodded. “You could’ve just said that!”  
  
“I’ve never been someone to just  _say_  things, [f/n]. What do you think?”  
  
“About you being my boyfriend? That’s the best idea anyone’s had around here in a while.”  
  
“Well, other than selling souls and all that, maybe.” You draped your arms around his neck and kissed him again, easing into it better now that you had control.   
  
“[f/n]?”   
  
You nearly screamed when you turned to the door. Your face burned as you attempted a smile and greeted, “Hi, Aaron!”   
  
“...Hi,” he returned, waving. “Am I interrupting you?”  
  
“No!” you shook your head and looked at Mark, who was no better off than you. He echoed your response, watching Yami. “No, not at all, we were just, um...yeah.”   
  
“Finally,” your boss muttered under his breath as he came over and held out something to you.   
  
“Excuse me?” Mark clarified, his arm hugging your waist.   
  
“Nothing, nothing.” Aaron fought the smile that threatened to cover his face as he left. You looked at the paper in your hand.   
  
“Alright, schedule for tomorrow. ...That’s a lot of free time. What could we do during all that time?”   
  
You looked over at Mark, who wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.  
  
“No, Mark, that’s not what I meant.”   
  
“Oh, didn’t you?!” he asked.   
  
“No, I didn’t. Come on. I gotta go home.”   
  
“I’ll come with you,” he offered.  
  
“I live on the other side of town.”  
  
“So do I.”   
  
A million scenarios flashed in your head about how horribly that could go.  
  
“Fine. But no monkey business.”  
  
“Deal.” He grabbed your hand and tugged you out the door. You barely caught the light switch on your way out, leaving your work on your desk for tomorrow.   
  
A gurgle sounded from behind your chair. A slimy hand crept out and rested on your notes.   
  
“ _[f/n]..._ ”  
  
TO BE CONTINUED?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally published at http://alexjackson1988.deviantart.com/art/MarkiplierxReader-Agateophobia-XIII-428382954.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're confused, [f/n] is your first name and [l/n] is your last name.


End file.
